Vincente D'Arcangelo

[Guest]

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CASE FILE: Alchemist {Cosca Falzone}

Ridi Vincente, sul tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol che t'avvelena il cor!
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FULL NAME:
→ Vincente Tommaso D'Arcangelo

AGE:
→ 25

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Naples, La Ciliegia

RACE:
→ Ceresian

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ December 24th, 1986

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HEIGHT:
→ 173 cm (5'8)

WEIGHT:
→ 68.1kg (150lbs)

PICTURE:
→

Spoiler:

DESCRIPTION:
→ Ah Vincente, your visage is sui generis, truly one to behold, for in your madness, you are still beautiful. Though gaunt and slender as you are, with long limbs and tall physique, you are a man of refined vision. Where you lack in the strength of Heracles, you make up in the gift of Helios and the Muses. Oh Vincente, your countenance is nothing less than unique, one of a kind! With fine silver hair, slicked back neatly, contrasted with a salient plume of wild, spread bangs, it is immediately apparent that you are no ordinary man. Dear Vincente, no one understands your pensive expression you often wear, nor your wily smile which reveals wondrous inner inspiration. But least of all, they do not understand your preternatural eyes, that bear the arcane visage of a messenger of heaven and hell. You are the apostle of god, Vincente, your gift is like no other. You see magnificent colour, unfathomable beauty where others cannot. Vivid colours, shades unknown to the world, radiance that numbs the mind, that run together in the most amazing display of artistry.

Vincente dresses in a most peculiar fashion, though he never explains why to anyone at all. He wears a very long sleeveless periwinkle shirt, buttoned up in the front by five black leather straps and golden buttons. It is so long that it trails past his kness, split in the front and sides like misplaced coat tails. It almost appears to be a dress, because it is so long. Underneath that shirt, he wears a thing long sleeved maroon shirt, of which its sleeves spread out from his sleeveless over-shirt and cover his arms in place of it. As a third layer, he wears a cowl-like cover that drapes over his shoulders and hangs down to nearly being at the point of reaching his elbows. It is the same colour as his overshirt, though with a bit of a rectangular solid pale blue pattern through the center, a wide collar, and golden buttons at the corners of the opening in the front. Vincente wears long black dress pants along with this outfit, and matching brown leather boots and gloves, each with golden rectangular buckles situated near the top. Finally, Vincente's outfit includes two very important components: A pair of very large headphones with wide, round purple speakers and a plastic black headband, along with a dark purple visor made of a tinted glass-like synthetic material, which holds place over his eyes by a plastic band that settles over his ears and around his head, making the device round in appearance. The tinted visor is see through, but nearly in a one-way fashion, much like sunglasses. His earphones have sound cancelling properties and actually have a built in mp3 playing device, which is loaded with many operas and symphonies.

Vincente's voice is very light and a bit melodic, though more than anything else, it sounds sporadic. In the rare chance that he is actually angered, he will actually lower his voice and sound serious, though the way he speaks seems to reflect the mannerisms of a ticked off psychopath. Though that would not be far from the truth.

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PERSONALITY:
→ No one understands you Vincente, your gift of vision is yet a curse in society. The others, they declare you as a mad man, they do not understand your mind, Vincente, they do not have the gift to see the world as you see it. Bright, unimaginable colours, euphoric visions that leave the mind numb and the eyes blind. You can see sounds, they paint wondrous pictures, true works of art. The sound of a persons scream fills your vision with colourful streaks of bright red, as beautiful as running blood, and violet lines streak across your vision like shooting stars when a blade sings out with another, steel clashing against steel. A volley of gunfire rings out and fills the air with mercurial percussion and only you witness the vivid splatters of running colour, manifesting itself in the air like a million ethereal fireworks. And the music Vincente! The beautiful music! The arias, the concertos, the operas, symphonies, ballads, nocturnes, serenades, sonatas, melodies and lyrics! Others may hear them, but they cannot see them like you, dear Vincente. As the instruments sing in harmony, as the violins's bows glide woefully on their strings, as fingers dance gracefully across the keys of the piano, singing out a wondrous melody, the world comes to life, and the breathtaking prism of fluttering luminous, innumerable hues. Art, art is the absolute of this world. Every great piece of art has just as much right to exist as the sun and the moon. Art is existence, it is the will of God. And you Vincente, the Artist, are the messenger of God, and it is your hand that does his bidding. And the greatest arts of all is yours to command, sweet Vincente. The portrayal of destruction, the illustrations of death, the symbolization of pain, and suffering. These things that humanity fears, they are wild, they are cannot be tamed, they're absolute, there is no imperfection to that which is undeniable in this world. So fly Vincente! Let you heart soar, let it sing the aria of the artist, let your hands usher beautiful suffering and havoc upon an undeserving world. Let the beauty of chaos shine brightly and illuminate the heavens!

Vincente, in all definitions of acceptable society, is criminally insane. From the time he was a young child, Vincente was not normal. The unsettling appearance of his pupils, the condition of audio to visual colour synesthia he suffered from, it left him in his own little world by means of both the outside world shutting him away, as well as he shutting out the outside world. He lacks the ability to tactfully socialize with others and his obsessive personality makes it difficult for him to relate with others. Vincente's obsession is beauty. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and in the warped eyes and mind of Vincente, beauty is holocaust; widespread ruin and destruction. The screams of men and women, the image of fresh blood splattered across a wall, the dance of a flame as it licks the charring flesh of a man crying in agony, the sound of an explosion from a bomb rocking the streets of a city, the crash of cars hurdling into one another, the shatter of glass, the bellow of a building as it crumbles at its foundations, spilling onto the world below, the magnificent calamity that a hurricane brings upon the inhabitants of a tiny island, the awe inspiring sight of enormous waves crashing against the beach, the symphony of war in all of its terrible glory.

But Vincente is not inherintly evil, rather, its as if he didn't know any better, unable to distinguish the wrong in his actions, impartial to it all for he only sees the wonderful and beautiful art he makes. From the outside, it might seem like he's torturing a man strapped to a chair with a sharpened wakizashi to the tune of Mario Lanza singing the famous opera score "Vesti La Giubba", but in Vincente's eyes, hes simply relishing the pain and suffering of this man while the music and screams mingle to make wonderful colours and his blade carves and sculpts lovely ribbons out of his flesh....okay, well maybe he is sadistic, but to be fair his psychopathic motives are certainly not conventional. Vincente never sees things in black and white. There is not good or evil for him, there is only art and beauty. So yes, in his various jobs in the mafia and then the Yakuza, he takes all the torture jobs, the explosive sabotage, and the killings that make and example for others. If you see a man strung up on a cross on top of a skyscraper, draped with chains and ribbons set on fire, it was probably Vincente sending a message to enemies of the Yakuza on another's orders. As long as he gets wreak some havoc or spread suffering and plague, he's exuberant with his job.

While Vincente normally does not connect with other people very well, certainly not in manners considered socially normal or healthy, his twin brother, Pancrazio, is an exception. Since they were children, Vincente has always been keen to pick up on the emotions and needs of his older twin brother. Consequence of action or how his actions may affect another really only weighs on Vincente's mind when it involves Pancrazio. Otherwise it never crosses his mind how one might feel about what he says or does, he is completely oblivious to the emotions and opinions of others, he does not even discern facial expressions and the emotions they indicate. But as for the reason he does not care for other's feelings, it is hard to discern where developmental disorders end and true sociopathic tendencies being. More often than not, Vincente does what he wants and does it on impulse. He does not particularly think beforehand and often does not hesitate to act, nor does he ever regret or lament his actions unless the concern something dearly and obsessively important to him, such as his "art". What he lacks of a true sociopath, however, is manipulative tendencies and feigned emotions. Vincente makes no effort to hide his ecstatic enjoyment of his havoc, nor does he ever pretend to sympathize with others. He has, however, learned to lie, as this is a necessity Pancrazio taught him during their career as mobsters.

When indulged in his passion, in the heat of the moment, during a kill, rampage, or explosives job, Vincente has been known to act extremely sporadically, with child-like abandon and joy. He often laughs, dances, makes exaggerated gestures, sing, or simply smile to himself.

While his patterns of speech may sometimes seem child-like or foolish, Vincente is not an idiot. Underneath his playful and erratic demeanor belies a certain level of intelligence, and in some manners, genius, though it manifests itself in ways that are certainly not considered conventional. Vincente could easily make a home-made bomb from common items, yet he could never sit down and listen to a lecture on the history of explosives. Vincente suffers from a form of ADD and ADHD, so he cannot easily focus on a single thing for very long, unless it is of extreme interest to him.

LOVE:
→ Death; Blood; Gore; Explosions; Natural Disasters; The sky (both night time and daytime); Firing guns; Blowing things up; Killing people; Classic art; Ceresian churches; Classical music; The opera; Colours; beautiful sounds (See his personality for his definition of beauty); Beautiful imagery; His twin brother Pancrazio; Makoto; Singing; Sweets; His deceased grandfather

HATE:
→ Boredom; Alcohol; Bitter things; Being commanded and punished by figures of authority (at least those that don't understand him); the sound of a baby crying; being confined or restrained; feeling trapped; silence;

IDOL:
→ Leonardo DaVinci; Ludwig Van Beethoven; Michelangelo; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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HISTORY:
→ In the quiet town of Naples in La Ciliegia, commonwealth of the Gelemorte and the Ciel Dominion, to the family D'Arcangelo, you were born, Vincente. The second of a pair of twin brothers, with tufts of white hair set upon your soft scalps, you two were a genetic oddity, yet perfectly healthy. Born to a loving mother, the sort of warm and benign Ceresian quality, and to a stern father, a travelling mustachio'd business man, a seller of quality Ceresian sunglasses, your family was certainly typical and sound. But it was when you opened your eyes, little Vincente, that your mother did gasp and your father demanded an explanation from the bewildered doctors. Rather than the gaze of deep blue, like your brother, your eyes were red-violet, the colour of a the horizon of a summer's sunset. But what unsettled the parents about his unfocused gaze were the shapes centered around his pupils. Three pointed shapes, bright carmine in colour, in a form which looked eerily similar to that of a bird with its wings spread, or, as they thought, an angel. Ceresians, as they happen to be, are religiously superstitious, holding a strong belief in God and his Kingdom of Heaven, as well as miracles, blessings, and omens. Upon looking into your aberrant gaze, with unsettling chills set into the cores of their beating hearts, your parents thought you to be of the latter, an ominous sign from unholy forces. The doctors attributed your eyes to a rare and random genetic mutation, pigmentation deficiencies that by mere coincidence, were arranged into a shape. Your parents, however, attributed it to the influence of the devil. So it was, that at only a few days after your birth, you were brought to the church where a priest would perform an exorcism upon your soul. You were shouted at, you were held before a gleaming golden cross, and holy water was splashed across your face, but your eyes remained the same, bearing the same visage as they stared off into some unfathomable world that those around you remained completely ignorant of. As for I, dear Vincente, I believe that you were not an omen, nor a scientific oddity, but a gift from God himself from the moment I held you in my arms.

Time passed and you and your brother grew from mewling babes to strapping young boys. Your brother was strong and healthy, the pride of your father, my son, and the object of affection for your mother. While your brother was allowed outside to play, or taken places for family outings, you would stay indoors, trapped in your room with only a few toys to keep you company. So when boredom persisted, you drew. All you had were a set of sixteen crayons and and a book of empty pages, but what manifested itself in your drawings were nothing short of amazing for one of your age. You simply drew what you saw in your wonderful visions. It was only through your remarkable drawings that others could see what you saw in the world. Slowly, your walls began to fill, fill with papers entirely coated in colour, full of abstract shapes and forms, not a single childish doodle to be seen. Your parents may have recognized your talent, but they did not pay you any heed, poor Vincente. Only I, your Grandfather Marco D'Arcangelo, dared to give you the time of day. Your parents did protest, they did not want you to be seen in public, for rumours to circulate of a cursed family and an anti-christ of a son, but I knew that they were fools. I took you everywhere, to all the great cities of Vaticano and Firenze, and even your home city of Napoli. I would take you to see all the works of fine art that has perpetuated through the cultural heritage and history of La Ciliegia, from its magnificent architecture to its captivating painting galleries, and even the great religious structures and art of the Vatican. Even as a child you had a fine eye for art, Vincente, you could see the wonder all around you. But above all, there was no place you loved more than the Opera house and the Concert hall. When the voices sang out and the music did play its voluptuous notes, your face lit up like a child's expression on Christmas morning. You pointed and your beautiful eyes sparkled with amazement as you stared off into space, at the walls and ceiling. That moment was when I realized that you were blessed with visions that I could not imagine. The music must have ignited them like nothing else, like coal to a blazing fire! Oh how I wish I could have seen the beauty that you could, little Vicente, for it would have truly been a blessing for an artist such as myself. But it was you who were bestowed with such a gift, synesthia, as the doctors would later call it, and it was you would would live on to be the great artist I had dreamt of being. Your name would echo in the halls of history, along with greats such as Michelangelo and Donatello.

I knew from your birth that you were something special. You never cried, you never whined or screamed, you were as quiet as you were innocent, a victim of your parents superstition and neglect. I tried to adopt you, to take you away from those whom did not deserve you, for I knew that if you continued as you were, you would be stained and broken, but alas, I succumbed to illness, and I could not finish the trials of your liberation. And for that, my dearest Vincente, I truly am sorry. I hope that someday I may see you work from the heavens...

...cara Vincente, mio bambino.





.........Oh grandfather, dear grandfather, where art thou, mio Nonno? See the wonderful art I make, do you see the beauty I create? Bello, bello, bello, stupenda! She screams, she screams aloud, her voice fills my head with wonderful colours! I glimpse into the visage of heaven, OF GOD! But it cannot last! I must see more! I slice, I cut, I sever, the strokes of my brush splatter the world with beautiful red! It seeps into the clouds of heaven, it swirls and mixes until the sky bursts with radiant extravagance, carried away by the spinning colours of her screams, I create the bridge to Heaven's kingdom! But the screams die, and the scarlet river ceases to flow, and I am left here on earth again. Why can't I reach you, Nonno? Are you smiling upon me now, upon me and my brother? Pancrazzio is afflicted, cara Nonno! He cannot see the beauty of the world, his happiness has been stripped from him. But I will spread my wings, I will fly to the Kingdom, and I will beseech The Lord, I will ask him to return Pan's soul! And I will see you again Nonno! I know I will, I know Heaven exists! For I have seen it with my own eyes! My own divine gift has granted me the ability to witness its wondrous visage!

Do you see me, Nonno! Do you see me as I grant wonderful sanctity to the world!? The run, they scream, I laugh, and the celestial paints run across the sky, they seep into me, I can feel the radiance they possess! The music plays, the violins hum, the piano sings, and then the fireworks ignite! The bombs, they explode, they explode into a millions sparks of colour, they dance and they twirl as the fall through the air, they fall to the earth, the streets are filled, filled like a rainbow! The people run and scream, they sacrifice to the beauty, but they cannot see it! Smile at me Nonno! Speak to me! Tell me that I do well! That I do god's bidding! See my art Nonno! Witness its grandeur! Witness the absolute divinity I create! I add to the sky! To the stars, the clouds, the moon, the sun! They shine brightly! The world shines brightly! It will fade away without me! Fade into nothingness! I will not longer see Heaven, I will no long be able to touch it! I won't lose you Nonno, I won't lose you or Pan! Hear me sing to the clouds, hear my voice, a thousand voices, and endless sea of beauty, flowing and melting into itself! I am half-blind! I can hear her speak, I can hear God speak soothing words, she speaks to me through the screams of men and women, she speaks to me through the beating of the heart, she speaks to me through the knife that plunges into it! She loves me, for I am her child, I am her messiah! I am her hand that wreaks havoc and chaos upon the earth, that brings beauty to it. The universe is chaos, mio Nonno! It is beauty! I have have seen it! Trillions of stars in billions of galaxies, exploding, evaporation, colliding, illuminating the darkness with the beauty of chaos! I see it in death! I see it in destruction! O Nonno, I am god's angel, I will walk the earth until I find the great Kingdom of Heaven, and she will beckon to me to join her in eternity, forever surrounded by divine grace.

Watch me Nonno, smile upon me! I shall laugh, and so will the world, as the great show of artistry must go on! Per sempre! per sempre! per sempre! per sempre! Belleza, belleza, mio belleza, o ciel, Io sono tuo figlio, guida la mia mano e voi, salgo verso l'eternità!

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TRIVIA:
→ Vincente has ADD and ADHD
He has some symptoms of Aspergers and Autism, but does not posses the full spectrum of conditions
He has a twin brother named Pancrazio
He has Audio → Visual synesthesia, meaning that he can "see" the sounds he hears, in the form of dynamic shapes and colours. He is obssessed with these visual displays, and often associates the most euphoric images with chaotic things such as murder and explosives
His eyes bear a mutation in pigmentation that make it appear as if there is a three pronged "bird" or "angel" shape around his pupil
When he eats apples or any fruit, for that matter, he always peels the skin off before eating them, he won't do so otherwise.
He loves sweets, especially pastries and candy
He does not drink, he can't stand the bitter taste
Vincente cannot stand the sound of a baby crying
The headphones he wears are almost always playing an opera piece, or a score by Mozart, Bach, or Beethoven
→ He speaks Cersian, Rouenian (Gelemortian-dialect), and is learning Aerugese (Kansai-ben)

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ALIAS:
→ Jokun

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Aishe, Amaruk, Ivanka, Miguel, Nika, Peizhi, Raistlin, Sorcha

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ Yes

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]Code Geass[/b]/[i]Mao[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ Madness

OFFICIAL TITLE:
→ I leave it up to you!

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[Dai]

A P P R O V E D

Since your synthesia is more of a disability than anything else, I'll accept it. Looks good to me.